Local time – 9:45pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
Rawalpindi, Pakistan.
Ahmed had spent the journey from the museum trying to decide how he could possibly make up for even a tiny part of what he had done. His actions had brought this about; he must fix it. He could see as soon as he reached the general that the man was curious to know what he was doing.
‘Who are you calling?’
‘General Abdullah Wasti. Please, just wait a moment and you will see it is all OK. Please trust me.’ The general obviously recognised the name; he nodded his head ever so slightly, which was all the permission Ahmed needed. He had already scrolled through his phone as he ran and was now ready to hit the call button. The general watched him closely as the phone call connected, and he puffed into it, waiting for someone to answer. After what seemed like an eternity, Ahmed finally spoke.
‘Mother, it’s me.’
Ahmed’s emotions caught up with him when he heard the sound of his mother’s voice. He detected the hint of sadness, and waited to hear what he thought was going to be the declaration of his father’s death. Tears already flowed from his eyes, before his mind had time to register what she was saying.
‘Ahmed, thank goodness you have called! Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day. Your father has been injured in a bombing. I am here with him at hospital. You must come, he wants to see you.’ Her words tumbled out in a cascade of relief and desperation. Ahmed could see Alex and Henry watching him, waiting for him to respond.
‘I know mother. I know about the attack. I need to speak to him. Please can I speak to him?’ Ahmed then heard the sound of shuffling and muffled voices. He turned his back on the general and walked a few meters away so that he could no longer be overheard. Before he could fully prepare himself, his father was on the phone.
‘Ahmed. My boy.’
‘Father, are you alright? I had not heard... ’
‘Yes, yes I have some cuts and a large gash to my head but I was lucky. I was not inside the foyer when the blast happened. It was frightful.’ Ahmed had never heard his father show any fear. But his voice now betrayed a frailty which scorched Ahmed’s conscience even further.
‘I am so sorry Father. I need your help.’
‘What is it my son?’
‘Please don’t ask me to explain. I will explain everything. Everything. I will explain everything.’ Ahmed tried to smother a sob. ‘You asked me to trust you. And I didn’t. Now I realise I have made a grave error.’
‘What have you done, Ahmed?’
‘You told me our government was selling our weapons. But I found one last weapon. And now I need your help to destroy it.’ Ahmed wasn’t surprised by how long his father took to respond. He could hear him breathing deeply, trying to come to terms with what his son was telling him. He seemed only able to repeat his question.
‘What have you done, Ahmed?’
‘I have made a terrible mistake father. And I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I ask you to help me stop my mistake destroying Pakistan. I need you to save Pakistan because I haven’t been able to.’
‘What do you need?’
‘I am here with the weapon. I have let foreign terrorists get too close to using it. Just as I feared would happen if we had no defence, I have put Pakistan in danger. I should have trusted you. I am sorry father. I am more sorry than you can ever know.’
‘How do I make the weapon safe, Ahmed? Tell me what I need to do.’ There was now urgency in Ahmed’s father’s words.
‘There are Pakistani soldiers here with us. If they don’t leave, I cannot find a way to stop this terrorist from attacking. Please ask them to leave. They won’t understand if you don’t ask them. Please ask them.’
‘The army is there? Who is there? Let me speak to them.’
‘You have to trust me father. If they don’t leave, the American can not be stopped.’
‘Ahmed. Put them on the phone. They won’t let the weapon be used.’
‘Please trust me father. Unless they leave, I cannot negotiate with the terrorist. You have to trust me.’
‘Put them on the phone, Ahmed.’
Ahmed walked back towards the general, who was looking very suspicious. Ahmed said nothing, but passed the phone to the man, and then stood and waited. He saw the man holding the phone up to his ear and nodding. He saw his expression turn to concern. He felt his eyes boring into him, accusing and hating him. He heard him agree to his father’s request. And before he knew it, the man was passing his mobile back to him. If Ahmed had any courage left, he would have asked the man what his father had said. But he was too scared to ask. He stood perfectly still, paralysed with fear, waiting for the general to start yelling. Or shooting. But neither happened. The man slowly got back in his truck and picked up the radio on the dashboard. With two short barked words, all the trucks came to life. Ahmed waited for the soldiers to rush at him. He waited for bullets to tear into him. But it didn’t happen. The trucks started to drive forward. Pulling around the transporter, as if it was a stationery bus in traffic blocking their lane, they kept driving until he could no longer see them. They were gone.